


Worthless, Worth Less

by Emachinescat



Series: Sesquipedalian [10]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>floccinaucinihilipilification, n.<br/>(flok-suh-naw-suh-nahy-hil-uh-pil-a-fi-KEY-shuhn)<br/>The estimation of something as valueless</p><p>Uther doesn't understand the bond between Arthur and Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthless, Worth Less

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Uther just didn't understand.

He sat in his chambers at his heavy wooden table, strong back leaning stiffly against the hard back of an intricately carved dining chair, and thought. He  _tried_  to understand but he found that he couldn't. Understanding wasn't coming to him tonight.

He sighed, pushed himself up from his regal seat, and began to pace, mind whirring and buzzing with the events of the past week, trying to work out a plausible explanation for his son's actions, for the servant's sacrifice, and for his own decisions. When the peace treaty had been made between Camelot and Mercia and King Bayard invited to Camelot to sign and celebrate, Uther would have never believed the implications.

_Nimueh was here… IN Camelot, so close and I didn't even realize it…_

Uther shoved the terrifying, unwelcome thoughts out of his mind as he stopped pacing for a moment, his emotionally hardened face crumpling for the briefest of moments, the façade he had grown so intertwined with over the years fading as he tried to force his thoughts elsewhere.  _Anywhere_  but Nimueh.

_The servant._

Ah, yes. The boy was one aspect of this that he didn't understand. He was also safe to think about, not something that would cause fear to grip his heart like it did whenever the beautiful, murderous, traitorous face of the witch Nimueh glided through his mind's eye.

He reflected upon the boy – a gangly, awkward, clumsy, hopelessly  _idiotic_ teenager, bumbling around like an ignorant oaf after his son. There wasn't anything about him to suggest that he was the kind of man – well, boy, really – to put his own life on the line to save that of his master's. Not that Uther was complaining – he had to admit, if only to himself, that if it hadn't been for Merlin, Arthur probably would be dead by now and Nimueh would have extracted her sick, twisted revenge. The thought made Uther's insides coil unpleasantly.

He remembered when Merlin burst into the hall, babbling on about how something was poisoned. Uther thought that the idiot was simply trying to cause trouble or maybe even had an inflated ego because he had been rewarded for saving Arthur's life before and was trying to do so again to get even more attention. Uther had been enraged – angry that he had the  _nerve_  to interrupt their dinner, the feast, and to accuse a visiting king of trying to poison Arthur. It hadn't escaped his notice how Arthur had immediately jumped to Merlin's defense, scrambling to insist that he wasn't in his right mind. And when Uther had told the boy to taste the wine that he so fervently claimed to be poisoned…

Arthur had tried to drink it.

Uther just couldn't comprehend  _what_  had possessed his son. Uther had ordered the boy to drink the wine, that should have been that. The fumbling idiot – albeit an occasionally brave and confusingly loyal idiot – obviously believed that it was poisoned. If it was  _Arthur would die._  And yet his son, perhaps overcome with gratefulness for the deed (although he shouldn't have been, it was simply what was to be expected of a royal's subjects), had tried to take the goblet and drink it instead of the servant. His son had gone mad. That was the only explanation he could think of.

He sunk down onto the edge of his bed again, running through the events again. Merlin falling to the ground, choking. While Uther had felt anger, it wasn't directed toward the fact that the servant was dying but because he had been right and Bayard had been trying to kill his son – or so it seemed. Arthur should have felt the same. He should have drawn his sword. Uther should have had to physically hold him back from slaughtering Bayard for his treachery then and there, assuring Arthur that he would pay soon enough.

But no. No, Arthur hadn't reached for his sword, hadn't reacted to the betrayal. Before his father could so much as blink, the crown prince of Camelot was on his knees by the boy's side, trying to rouse him, pure panic dancing erratically in his eyes. He had left the feast without even waiting to see how the tense situation was resolved. Instead, he had scooped his servant in his arms and  _carried_ the boy away, out of the hall, presumably to the physician's chambers.

And then he had gone – directly disobeyed his father's orders to  _not_  go find the cure, that it was too dangerous, nearly dying in the process. For a  _servant._

He claimed it was all a matter of honor, that Merlin had saved his life and he needed to return the favor, but Uther could see that Arthur was deceiving him, deceiving  _himself._  He wasn't doing this for honor, or pride, or a sense of indebtedness. He was doing this because he was  _worried_  about his servant. Apparently the idea of the boy dying was so foreign to him that he wouldn't stand for it. He had put his life, the future of Camelot, on the line for his servant.

Uther couldn't understand whatever it was that they had, master and servant.

When he had taken the flower from his son, crumpled it callously in his gloved hand, dropping it to the floor, it wasn't just to teach his son a lesson. Yes, Arthur needed to learn to listen to, obey, and respect his father – his _king_  – but if Uther was entirely honest with himself, the  _bond_  that Merlin and Arthur seemed to have formed scared him.

If Arthur was willing to put his life on the line for a mere servant now, when they barely knew each other, what would he do for the boy later on? How far would he go for this servant that seemed to almost be his  _friend_? Would he divulge valuable secrets? Would he cross mountains and rivers, bandit-infested lands, to save someone whose life was not  _worthless_  but  _worth less_  than his? Would he  _die_  for Merlin? In a moment of panic, Uther had all but sentenced his son's two-time savior to death under the guise of teaching Arthur a lesson – but in actuality, he wanted to stamp out the beginnings of a friendship he saw forming.

Merlin was a servant, he was of no value to Arthur. He was disposable. Arthur couldn't afford to have his judgment clouded by the idea that the idiot was his friend, someone worth putting his life on the line for.

As it was, Uther was a bit relieved that Arthur had managed to find a way to smuggle the cure to Merlin. Not because he cared for the boy,  _heavens_  no, but because he knew that he had acted out of fear and would have hurt so many more people than just Arthur if he had allowed the boy to die when the cure was in his possession. He didn't want to lose Gaius, his only true friend. He knew Morgana, as well, would be hurt and angry by the boy's death as well. And, well, Merlin  _had_  saved Arthur's life. Twice.

But it still didn't mean that he had a right to think he was anything special, anything other than a servant. Uther stood, walked to his window that peered over the cobbled courtyard, and stared out, his mind still focused on one tiny, insignificant player in the game of life and why Arthur seemed to think that he was worth putting his life on the line for.

He sighed heavily as he watched his son and servant walk across the courtyard moments later, the boy still looking pale and weak from his ordeal – according to Gaius, he had been so bad off when the cure had reached him that his heart had actually stopped beating for a few moments and he had literally  _died_  right there in front of the old man, restored only by the quick administration of the drug. He watched, surprised, as the servant stumbled slightly and Arthur, while laughing at his clumsiness, reached out and steadied his servant by the elbow, obviously concerned about him all the while.

Uther frowned. Yes, there was something there – a bond, not quite friendship but stronger than what was normal for a master-servant relationship – something that seemed like it could span centuries, reform kingdoms, and do the impossible, a bond that could and  _would_  only grow stronger with time. Jumping slightly at the unbidden, strange, frightening thought, Uther heard himself calling for a servant to attend to him. He couldn't think about Merlin anymore. It wasn't right for a king to dwell on someone as low and valueless as a mere servant.

After all, even after all the contemplating and figuring he had done, the fact remained –  _Uther still did not understand._

And chances were, he probably never would.


End file.
